Total pages in book: 17
Estimated words: 16116 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 81(@200wpm)___ 64(@250wpm)___ 54(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16116 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 81(@200wpm)___ 64(@250wpm)___ 54(@300wpm)
Cain jumps onto the bed, circling three times before settling against my legs. Abel follows, predictably attacking his brother's tail. Their skirmish sends ripples of movement through the quilts.
"Those damn cats," Wyatt mumbles into my hair, his voice rough with sleep.
I smile and nestle deeper into his warmth. "They missed me too."
His arm tightens around me, a silent acknowledgment of the month we spent apart. We don't talk about it much anymore. What matters is now—this bed, this cabin, this life I've chosen.
Wyatt makes breakfast while I feed the cats. We eat at the rough-hewn table he built with his own hands, discussing plans for the day. Simple. Perfect. Just us.
"I need to check the far ridge," he says, refilling my coffee cup. "Want to come?"
"Of course." I've accompanied him every day this week, learning the mountain that's now my permanent home. Sometimes I bring my camera, sometimes I just watch him work. Either way, I find myself storing these moments like treasures.
The ridge offers a spectacular view of the valley below. Wyatt moves with that fluid grace that first captured my attention, pointing out landmarks, teaching me to read the land the way he does.
"There's a storm system coming," he says, gesturing to clouds gathering in the distance. "Probably hit tomorrow."
I frame the approaching clouds through my viewfinder. "It's beautiful."
"Yes, very beautiful."
When I lower my camera, he's watching me with an intensity that still makes my heart race. I remember all those romance movies I used to watch, where I wished someone would look at me the way those heroes looked at their heroines.
Wyatt does the exact same thing to me. The proof is the butterflies fluttering in my belly.
He reaches for my hand, tugging me to sit beside him on a sun-warmed rock.
"I have something for you."
From his pocket, he withdraws a small wooden box, its surface carved with delicate mountain peaks. Oh my God, it's so beautiful.
"I made this last month," he says, "when I thought you weren't coming back."
He opens the box. Inside sits a ring—a simple band of white gold with a princess-cut diamond at its center. The stone catches the golden light of the sun, throwing tiny rainbows that dance across the rocky outcropping where we sit. It's not huge or ostentatious, but perfectly cut and clear, sparkling against the backdrop of the valley spread below us.
"Wyatt," I say, unable to look away from how the diamond seems to capture the very light of the mountains themselves.
But Wyatt is already down on one knee before me. "I've loved you since the moment you stumbled into my life, and I will love you until I take my last breath. I was going to say you changed my life, but that's not exactly true. You, Emma, baby, you are my life. Will you marry me?"
Tears blur my vision as I take the ring from its nest, hand shaking so hard I almost drop it.
"Yes," I say, letting him slide it onto my finger. "Yes, of course, yes."
He kisses me then, and the mountains around us fade away. It's just him and me and the rest of our lives together. When we break apart, I can't stop staring at the ring—this perfect embodiment of us.
"It's beautiful," I whisper.
"Like you." His forehead rests against mine. "I was going to wait, but I couldn't. Needed you to know you're it for me."
"I've known," I tell him, "since that first night under the stars."
We sit there, newly engaged, watching clouds build over mountains that were once just a photography assignment and are now our future. My fiancé. Our home. Words I never imagined would fit so perfectly.
"We need supplies," Wyatt announces the next morning. "Town day."
The prospect of going to town together feels significant. Last time I left this mountain, rangers and angry parents were involved. This time, I'll return with Wyatt by sunset, our truck loaded with supplies for our shared life.
The drive down takes almost an hour, the truck bouncing over rough roads. Wyatt holds my hand when he doesn't need both for steering, his thumb occasionally brushing over my new ring.
The town looks different now—not a gateway back to my old life but simply a place where people like us get necessities. We move through the general store, gathering food and household items. I notice how people nod at Wyatt, their curious glances at me now tinged with recognition.
Wyatt translates a look from the woman behind the counter. "Mrs. Perkins wants to know if we need flour."
"We do," I say, amazed at how easily he reads the locals.
Mrs. Perkins adds flour to our growing pile. "Mail came for you, Emma," she says, disappearing into a back room. She returns with an official-looking envelope. "Started forwarding here last week, like you asked."
I accept the envelope with a flutter of surprise. "Thank you."